


He

by Emmaliene



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Child Abuse, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-20
Updated: 2014-02-20
Packaged: 2018-01-13 03:12:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1210510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emmaliene/pseuds/Emmaliene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A very short little oneshot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or it characters. As such, I make no profit from this story.
> 
> *****

He was a small child. Much too small for his age. It was a big part of why the other boys bullied him so much. An easy target. He never had the strength to fight back, and lacked the quick reflexes and speed to get away from them. They were like a pack of wolves, hunting him down, gathering around him in a circle, then going in for the kill. He never got out unscathed. They would call him things like "freak" and "loner". Taking turns at beating and kicking him. Eventually stopping when he no longer moved. Leaving him bloodied and bruised on the floor, broken and barely breathing.

The few clothes he had were all torn in various places. Threadbare as they were, they were only replaced when absolutely necessary. Even then, they were never new. He always got hand-me-downs, which were always too big for his small frame.

It seemed that nobody cared much for the odd little boy with no friends. The one who barely spoke, never smiled and always kept to himself. He would nod politely when adults spoke to him, and excuse himself so that he wasn't in the way. Scampering off to his tiny room and gently closing the door behind him. He didn't like attracting any unwanted attention. That was usually when he got in trouble. Which meant another beating, followed by bed with no supper. This was a regular occurrence, which explained his small stature, as well as the constant, ever changing bruises littering his face and body.

At night, when the lights went out, he would sit on his bed with his little box, and pull out his locket, watching it sparkle in the moonlight. He would turn it over in his hands and gently trace the large "S" with his fingertips. It was all he had left of his mother, and he cherished it dearly.

**Author's Note:**

> This was an incredibly short little thing which was just bouncing around in my head, and refused to go away. I hope that it becomes clear who "He" is in the last two sentences.  
> Hope you liked it.
> 
> -Emmaliene


End file.
